


Purple Glass

by th3rm0pyl43



Series: Secundae [3]
Category: Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Augmentations (Deus Ex), Body Image, Gen, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Acceptance, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 15:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/pseuds/th3rm0pyl43
Summary: Adam touches himself. It's not as simple as it sounds.
Series: Secundae [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510913
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Purple Glass

Perhaps it wasn’t that big of a deal after all.

He usually slept shirtless anyway, and now it was only a matter of discarding his underwear too. And so Adam lay naked on his bed, desiring, but still something in his head barred his hands from lifting off the sheet.

He’d done this a few times before with his hands and many more without - humping a pillow or grinding against his bedsheets for relief and looking guiltily at the mess afterwards. With his hands… he’d always been too drunk to remember clearly what it was like. Had needed the fog of whiskey on his mind to numb the nagging thoughts just enough, just long enough. 

Tonight, those were in full force. _ What if I hurt myself? What if I don’t feel anything? Do I deserve this? _

Adam took a deep breath and lifted one hand, grimacing at how heavy it felt all of a sudden. Nerves playing tricks on him, this disproportionate unease riding on the back of the dark side of his limbs having full sensation. _ Stupid. Of course I deserve this. _

He flexed and curled his fingers, rotated his wrist three hundred and sixty degrees. What was he afraid of? 

Sighing, he lowered his hand to rest splayed on his stomach and closed his eyes, focusing on sensation.

Silky skin that had healed back up from gnarly wounds too many times to keep track of. Faint scars remaining from his surgery when the _ Sentinel _ hadn’t fully adapted to his body yet by the time the incisions closed up on their own. Solid, pleasantly defined muscle underneath that he took great care to maintain, digging the same set of weights he’d had for years out of the closet every three days. 

Working out felt good, natural. Forty pounds one-handed were a joke to the powerful myomeres in his arms, but whenever he woke up the next day to his limbs tingling, just as sore as his torso, he knew it was worth it. Made him feel his own strength. 

Adam wouldn’t admit it out loud, but there was a tall mirror in his bedroom for good reason. He would spend an hour or two simply looking at himself, sometimes only topless, sometimes in just a pair of briefs, though not fully nude. _ Why? Am I afraid of myself? _ Moving his arms, watching them, hearing the low whir of their inner workings. 

They looked so different to two years ago. The red markings around the Typhoon ports had lost their color. The surfaces had once been matte, the carbon’s rough striae fading. Once stiff and unyielding to the touch, their material had softened in some strange way, now with a slight give to it when he reached up and squeezed, and he’d discovered by pure chance that not only did it resist more strongly the more force was applied, but also wasn’t even remotely as rigid as he thought. The mirror never lied - he’d gotten back just one more small familiar thing, but it felt great to pick up a dumbbell and see a gleaming black bicep bulging, responding to the motions of his wrist. The same was even true for his thighs, shoulders, triceps and calves. Had Sarif really thought of everything, or was this a pleasant side effect of his body bonding so tightly with his augs?

Speaking of _ rigid _ things-

Picturing the mirror being mounted on the ceiling instead revealed that a dainty flush had begun to spread across Adam’s skin from his cheeks over his neck and chest. _ Yes. _This was familiar.

Raising his left hand to lay it on that side of his chest, he lowered the right, fingertips tingling with an oddly welcome excitement, to just hold himself for a moment. Slender sable fingers wrapping around a not too remarkable shaft, applying no pressure, only holding and _ feeling_. 

Heavens, no wonder he had such doubts about touching himself with his hands - he was straight-up hypersensitive down there at the moment. His skin sparked like the _ Icarus_, hot pricks shooting up his spine at the mere light touch of his palm and fingers, almost overwhelming his nerves, but no such overreaction came from his hand. Strange, but fascinating.

Adam licked his lips, unconsciously beginning to breathe through his mouth, and concentrated so he might see through the static. Soon this blindness faded and gave way to a subtle pulsing sensation, and it felt… pretty good. Yes, this was how it worked. He gave himself an experimental stroke with just a thumb, a low groan escaping his throat at the warm wave it sent through him, then another when a pleasant shiver went the opposite direction. So _ that _ was why some people blushed furiously and turned away at the sound of his voice.

Adam could see where they were coming from, come to think of it. He _ did _sport a bottomless, guttural… growl, he supposed, though he didn’t particularly like the way that sounded. Animals growled, and he was no such base creature. No. 

His voice was… a puff of smoke from _ Royal Hellhounds_. Ferocious, yet regal. Gentleman and warrior. A cloud obscuring the moon at midnight with a promise to let it shine again when the time was right.

Yes. Adam liked that.

His hand began to move, gently, muscle memory guiding his fingers to envelop his tip and caress it, feeling himself pulsate and swell in response, hungry for more. Soft little noises accompanied a slow rhythm of stroking motions, and when he registered the feathery tingle of fluid on his fingertips, his other hand briefly clenched, squeezing the firm slab of muscle it was resting on. Appreciating how much discipline he poured into himself, _ Sentinel _ protein therapy or not. Possessive, perhaps. _ My body. Mine. Mine! _

He remembered cursing under his breath at how much of a mess he left whenever he found some relief, sometimes enough that not even three towels kept the sheets clean. In some mysterious way, the augs seemingly had permanently spurred his prostate into action. Good thing he was planning to throw these sheets in the wash anyway.

A small message popping up on Adam’s HUD broke Adam’s flow. _ Activate manual oscillation? _

“Huh-” Grunting with minor annoyance, he frowned, considered for a moment, then decided to try that out, whatever the reason his system was asking about it right now, and-

Whoa. _ Whoa. Hold the phone. _

His right hand had begun _ vibrating_.

_ Sarif, you goddamn madman. _

A lopsided smile spread across Adam’s flushed features as he settled back into that sphere of warm thoughts that had formed over the last thirty minutes or so. His shaft, fully hard and throbbing, certainly appreciated this little gimmick. This he could work with. 

The vibration started out low and teasing. It took him a while to figure out how to control it, and in the meantime he continued to stroke himself with abandon, loving the way his pelvic floor muscles twitched in response whenever he pressed a rumbling fingertip to a delicate spot just below his tip. 

Yes. This was why he was so glad he pushed through all the pain and allowed his myriad scars to heal. Simple, hard-earned harmony with his own body. Joy. Pleasure. The growling beasts that had once plagued him were slain, could no longer forbid him to feel worthy and strong and appreciate himself. 

Love himself. 

Adam almost giggled softly with the sparking excitement that came with that thought. To think he’d still gotten his knickers in such a twist barely an hour ago. Sometimes it really was that simple.

_ I deserve to love myself_, he repeated silently as the warmth began to blossom into flame. _ I’m beautiful. I am strong, and my body is mine and only mine. _

Deep pink shone through his beard as his own moans fueled the fire. _ I’m allowed to love myself. _He subconsciously arched, effortless and graceful, muscles shining with sweat that dripped slowly down his tensed, even more chiseled-looking abs. Warm air brushed against his flushed skin as his augs vented heat. His pulse hammered inside his tip, exactly as powerful as he felt at the moment. 

Never would he have imagined that something as mundane as pleasuring himself could ever hold so much meaning. Adam was spiting all who pitied him. They could not see, and like hell he would give them that privilege, but this was the greatest middle finger he could give them. _ Take your pity back and shove it up yours. I’ve got better things to do than wallow in misery. _

His brows knitted together as he tightened his grip and quickened his pace, heart pounding, his breath beginning to waver, muscles flexing with power, balls drawing up tight, _ CASIE _ releasing just a little whiff of pheromones…

The moment stretched on. His hips bucked into his hand and his mouth hung open, his other hand grasped a fistful of the sheets, everything slowed down, and-

Adam keened as his orgasm crashed down on him like a strike of thunder. His lower abs visibly pulsated with tension, clenching repeatedly, beautifully to pump out rich, powerful spurts. The contractions lasted for a precious few more seconds after he was spent, wanting to give more to himself. He stroked for a little longer before removing his hand, ceasing its vibration. _ Beautiful. Beautiful. _

He simply breathed, a soft smile on his lips. Heat faded to comfortable warmth, almost overriding the sticky mess all over his stomach.

Lifting his hand, Adam admired the dual gleam of black carbon and white goo, then did something he never had before-

-and licked his fingers, tasting himself. Too much sugar and coffee, though no trace of alcohol or tar. Not as gross as he anticipated, but not his cup of tea either.

With a soft sigh, Adam sat up straight, rose from the bed on slightly unsteady legs and picked up the plain white towel he’d been lying on top of. Miraculously, the sheets had remained squeaky clean aside from a little bit of sweat having seeped through - he’d have plenty of time to do some housekeeping the next day.

The warmth lingered as he washed his hands, stuffed a basket full of dirty laundry into the washer and turned the machine on, then stepped into the shower cabin. Before turning on the water, however, an idea crossed his mind, and he stepped back out to round the corner, returning with his prize in hands.

Carefully setting down the mirror to lean against the open door, Adam smirked to himself, made sure it wouldn’t tip over and break, then went to shower, watching contently as the water cleansed his hair and skin and caressed his muscles and made his augs shine. 

He could get used to this.


End file.
